Fire Breather
by DarkDevices17
Summary: He had saved the girl condemned to die. "The girl who toes the line of sanity. For she is the undone and divine and she will destroy us all."


**None of the characters used in this fic belong to me, all rights go to the wonderful Stephanie Meyer. **

* * *

_Fire. _

It was that single thing – that single concept – that started it all – that dominated every aspect of her existence. Not as it would be for many, the fear or experience of it, rather the ability to command and control something so unattainable, untameable, so wild, something that could bring others immeasurable amounts of suffering and pain. To her, it was a curse, born out of the dank dark recesses of her fragile mind, where light fears to tread. To him, it was a gift.

In her few brief years of life, and the many centuries that followed, it was the power to wield fire, an element of such ferocity, chaos, and destruction; the ability to inflict pain unto others, that he treasured. From the girl he so craved. The value lay not in the element itself that could be used to incite this sensation, but rather in the girl who held it. Whoever held the power to bring down wave after crushing wave of agony unto others would always hold sway over them; obedience and reverence invoked through fear, such power would be absolute for any person who could inflict the purest form of pain. Caius had always desired this. Inept instruments of torture were an obstruction to achieving soul wrenching agony that could only be generated from a simple flick of her wrist from a thought created in the deep recesses of her mind. That had been the philosophy in his old life, and it was one, he had carried with him and give to her upon entering her new one. He had saved the girl condemned to die from the city dressed in jewels and gold, fine linen, Myrrh and pearls. Her plagues had come to her all at once, as her mourners watched her burn. The fire breather who breathed fire into, a fire breather. Such as the story goes.

There were those that hypothesised that the unique individual talents of the vampires were the result of their most dominant human traits, aspects of their once human selves being amplified, during the transformation. That may have once been a mere insignificant aspect of their personality, turned into a lethal supernatural ability. From his own experience of watching his darling, Caius was inclined to agree. He believed that her power stemmed from of what little she could remember of her previous life. As a human, she had learned in early childhood that the threat of torture and torment were far better incentives to unnerve and sway others than any feeble threats of deprivation or humiliation could ever possibly hope to achieve. The boy who stole her doll when playing, and who had antagonised her when she refused to play, would be far more likely to return the doll and leave her to her own devices should Isabella hit him hard, rather than the threat of tattling on him to his parents.

The Christian church Isabella had once known – once belonged to – seemed to have been aware of this fact to. It was not absolution of oblivion, nor was it the lack of gratification after death that they threatened sinners with, rather an eternity of damnation and never ending suffering, and true or not, this idea alone seemed to be effective enough in converting those to the ways of Christianity. The thought of this brought a sinister smirk to Caius' lips. Whatever awaited after her death was something Isabella would never have to fear. He would make it so. Caius could still remember the day, after many centuries past, that Isabella and himself returned to the quaint, quiet little town she once called home, seeking revenge on those who had built her pyre and condemned her to die in its flames. He can remember when Isabella had found the priests, her mother, father and brother, cowering behind their crosses praying to a god that would never come, where they had once pointed an accusatory finger at her, his darling Isabella, now laying crumpled on the floor pleading for their miserable lives, begging for her mercy; a mercy that would never come, a mercy they had never once shown her. Whatever god they prayed to made no effort to help them now as Isabella unleashed the full extent of her fury, the agony that she created within them, a mirror of what had once been inflicted upon her amplified tenfold. What was once called family had screamed and cried, as Isabella laughed at them with a sadistic and sacrilegious joy. They had been the ones who had judged and condemned her; promising her an eternity of never ending torture, unrelenting agony, pain and suffering after death, and then sent her to the pyre to burn. Her death had now passed, and she was not the one suffering.

Instead, she held all the power as she inflicted upon them a crushing agony, that she knew she could make last for all of eternity. Their hollow threats meant nothing now that death was no concern for her. Rather she wielded a power that could rival whatever strength their supposed god had. Pain held no fear for her any longer; rather it danced at her fingertips, obeying her every command, carving its way into the minds of others and taking root on whatever whim she felt. What was once meant to be her undoing was now her salvation. She was its mistress now. He was her master.

She had refined her ability over the years. Her power no longer came as a thunder crash, but rather a feather light whisper, blowing over the mind of her victim, feeling the searing heat as the flames licked at their skin igniting the nerve endings with just the faintest of touches. The exhausting amount of concentration once needed had been shed centuries before, and now she could wreak agony, cause never ending destruction, bringing empires crashing to the ground with nothing more than a passing thought. Boredom or curiosities were enough fuel to fan the flames than the burning anger she had once needed.

It was that power that Caius admired most in her; the perfect counterpart to his sadistic nature, such depravity known by many, and seen by many more. Caius understood and appreciated her gift more than she ever could. It gave him a sly sense of self-assurance to know that her power would never, could never be turned on him, even if he wanted it to. Not that he ever should want it, but knowing that her abilities were unlimited in their devastation gave him a kind of confidence that was unmatched by the knowledge that he held a position of power among the Volturi; that he had such a weapon at his disposal.

And so when confronted by his darling – a creature that ought to have broken and crumbled like fine china – it terrified him that his ability to manipulate her, keep her in his hold, in the belief that she needed him, her only connection to stability, the one who introduced her to this life, his only childe, may not be enough, should his worst fear ever come to pass; that she grew to realise that she did not need him at all. It terrified him that his power to manipulate her seemed as ineffective as slashing a knife through air. Isabella's mind was not so much impenetrable as it was inconceivable. Trying to hurt felt less like attempting to break through a solid barrier, and more akin to aiming at a target, only for it to slip away as if it never had a tangible existence in the first place. Hurting her, only hurt himself. So used to being feared by others, so much so they dare not look upon his face for fear of him unleashing his thinly veiled wrath upon them, that they could not see the desperate need for companionship, something he so craved. A need for another all his own; such was Isabella, a beauty not only in her mortal shell, as an immortal she rivalled the beauty of all others. Trying to navigate whatever strange psychic invulnerability this girl had on him, left him scrambling for whatever semblance of dignity and decorum he had left. As she stood by his side in the Volturi throne room, was one of the times of the many centuries they had been together had Caius been truly shaken.

Aro of course upon first meeting, Isabella many centuries ago had taken an immediate interest in the girl. Especially following the demonstration of her gift upon her arrival in Volterra, she intrigued him more than ever. Her ability seemed to attract him the same way that he had once been attracted to Jane, fascinated by the abilities that she had even as a weak human that he wished to cultivate further in order to expand the Volturi guard. That had always been how he worked. Since time immemorial, Aro had liked to collect. The search for others with talents comparable to his own had been his main source of stimulation and fascination for aeons, and through his efforts he had gathered and built a formidable force. None dared to challenge the Volturi rule. Only the strongest were chosen by him, to join the revered ranks of the Volturi, and of them all, what power could be more terrifying and exquisite than hers?

Having the most formidable of all their powers at his disposal, a creature of such magnificent, unadulterated beauty to be at his beck and call; under his command, had long been what Caius most prided himself on. Over the years, Isabella had come to define herself and be known as the greatest weapon and treasure of the Volturi, with the ability to call and cause undeniably devastating destruction like a God. Loved by all, feared by all, rivaled by no one. How is it that only now does he feel defeated in the face of such an ordinary girl, reduced to little more than that of a weak child. Of course that was not true, he was a vampire now, far stronger and greater than the girl he saved from the flames she now commands, a girl he has grown so accustomed to, grown to love now angered and scared him. The ability he once valued so highly was suddenly rendered worthless. Whatever other supremacy he felt he held over Isabella felt meaningless in the face of this insolent invulnerability, which defied everything upon which Caius had built his reputation.

For almost every other being on the face of this earth, the power that Isabella held was something to be feared and respected in the highest regard, elevating the girl who wielded it to a status comparable to that of a god, a force unto her own.

For Caius himself, there was no power in the world more abhorrent and terrifying than that of the girl who holds his unbeating heart in her hands. The girl who toes the line of sanity, dances on the fringes of danger. She is the danger. Fear her, love her, or even loathe her. For she is the undone and divine; and she will destroy us all.


End file.
